


Season In, Season Out

by miangel29



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Drama, GOT7_TAROT_19, M/M, Model AU, cameo by Bambam, cameo by Youngjae, hinted eating disorder, very minor Markson, very small cameo by Yugyeom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miangel29/pseuds/miangel29
Summary: Amidst whatever it is that has been going on between himself and Jaebeom in hotel rooms, Jinyoung finds himself no longer able to withstand the way his agency and the fashion industry take prey on young talent. He learns that the only way for him to ever be happy is to fight for change himself, even if that means breaking his heart in the process.





	Season In, Season Out

**Season In, Season Out**

***

The spotlight was blinding, the infinite clicks of camera shutters deafening, the focused gazes of a hundred eyes unrelenting.

It wasn’t anything Jinyoung hadn’t grown accustomed to. Even as he walked with calculated steps and the slightest deliberate hint of a sway of his hips, on the pristine white stage that divided the room in its center, he remained impassive. He paused, at the edge of the runway, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to another, the heavy material of the leather jacket he wore falling to compliment the lines of his lean body, the peek of a bare bicep showing through the one sleeve artfully opened to the elbow. Eyes followed the contour of his torso, on display from his fitted, orange, sleeveless turtleneck.

He felt nothing. Just a sense of responsibility to use his body to showcase the outfit as best he could.

Jinyoung turned and began the walk back, but, this time, he couldn’t help the way his eyes strayed towards the incoming model after him.

A long, dark coat swished behind him, loose and almost ominous to his presence. His hands dug deep into the pockets of the coat, something a rookie would have been scolded for, but not this man, not this veteran. The black shirt he wore underneath glittered only with the silver buttons and the heavy silver chain hanging around his neck. His head-to-toe monotone of darkness was broken by the blueish grey running through the strands on his head, side parting allowing his forehead to be exposed and perfecting the slightly longer tail of his hair. The smirk he donned should have been more fitting for something like Jinyoung wore and definitely not something one would see from a runway, but this man had a knack for straying away from the ordinary.

Their eyes met, if only for a split hair of a second, but the buzz of an unspoken promise charged Jinyoung’s insides with anticipation. The air between them as they passed, bodies parallel for the briefest of moments, felt like a raging fire had been lit with a single spark.

Turning back to glance at the runway once he was sheltered in the darkness of backstage, Jinyoung found himself eager for the show to end and for Jaebeom to meet him in his hotel room.

***

In spite of the raging snowstorm outside, warm lips and an even more heated body was pressed against Jinyoung’s, blazing his entire being with fervent intensity at the intimacy of their proximity.

Jaebeom had all but ambushed him barely five minutes upon their return to their hotel room, not allowing Jinyoung to even open the door fully before he had been corralled onto his own, still neatly made and untouched bed. The heavy door had slipped back into place and shut out the outside world to their privacy, but by then Jaebeom was already pressing insistent, open-mouthed kisses aggressively on Jinyoung, all teeth and tongue and not even an inkling of gentleness.

Jinyoung was quick to meet the challenge, fingertips clutching roughly at the long strands of Jaebeom’s hair, clawing at his nape without mercy and keeping his arms tightly wound around his shoulders in an almost suffocating embrace.

This was them. This was how they functioned. Fire against fire, the flame setting ablaze with no fear of the damage, only for them to bask in the addictive burn of the moment. No submission, no room for lenience, no tenderness.

“How dare you go parading around your body like that?” Jaebeom snarled against his ear. “You think you can start a strip show now that you’ve gone all buff?”

Jinyoung responded with a particularly hard bite to Jaebeom’s collarbone. “I’m a model, that’s what I do. I use my body to sell clothes. Just like you.”

“I don’t walk with half my jacket on and teasing everyone with half an arm and a tight knit top,” Jaebeom said, voice dropping even lower as he pulled roughly at Jinyoung’s earlobes.

“No, you only used to exclusively do sleeveless tops with arm holes opened up so wide, everyone could practically see your abs.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re mine and no one else is allowed to see what’s underneath the clothes you model.”

Jinyoung’s fingers fell slack for the briefest moment and his lips froze. Something heavy dropped in his gut and his throat seemed to seize up. A tightening crept into his chest and his vision blurred ever so slightly.

Unless his mind was deceiving him, Jinyoung felt Jaebeom pause for the briefest of seconds. And unless his imagination was riding the roller coaster of delusional reality, Jaebeom’s previously burning kisses mellowed into something a little softer, a little more gentle, more—dare he say—affectionate. The hold he had on Jinyoung felt less bruising, more  _ caressing _ .

Jinyoung’s hands unraveled from Jaebeom’s nape and settled on his jaw. He held the man in place, forcing them to part and for their eyes to meet. The universe he saw in Jaebeom’s dark pupils was a plethora of mysteries, but was there something familiar in those depths? Something he recognized reflected in his own?

Would he…? Could he…? Maybe this time…?

Time held its breath for the longest of a split second and it was moments like these that Jinyoung wished he could prolong to unravel the tangled questions hanging unanswered between them. But the moment was fleeting, just like all the others. A darkness Jinyoung had become acquainted with befalling on the windows to Jaebeom’s inner dwellings. His grip tightened possessively on Jinyoung again.

“Tonight, you’re mine. Your body is mine.”

They were mutual triggers to one another. Jaebeom’s growl set off Jinyoung’s equally harsh return, lips pushing just as hard, hands gripping just as tight, body pressing just as close. He ignored the way droplets seeped through the corners of his eyes, the growing pain clutching at his chest, and only allowed passion to burn through his mind, throwing every other thought out of sight.

The next morning when he awoke on his own, bed still a mess and sheets still messily thrown back on the side Jinyoung had not occupied, he pretended not to feel the pain that stuck to his chest. He pretended not to remember the fleeting moment of tenderness they shared. He pretended that he didn’t cherish it much, much more than the physical aspect of their night. He pretended that his eyes didn’t water with fresh new tears. He pretended that this was okay, this was normal; he was alright.

***

“Jinyoungie~”

Strong arms wrapped around Jinyoung even before he had a chance to look in the direction he had been called. Not that he needed to: he’d know that voice anywhere, especially when followed by persistent clinging.

“Jackson, you’re a fully grown adult. Stop acting like you haven’t even hit puberty.” It was a reprimand, but Jinyoung’s wide smile gave away the lack of seriousness his words held.

“Oh is Mr. Hot Shot Runway Model too good to act a little childish now, is he?” Jackson teased, still not letting Jinyoung go.

“Excuse me, Mr. Number One Commercial Model in the Country,” Jinyoung shot back.

Jackson snorted. “ _ Please _ . Everyone knows commercial is second-class to high fashion. And everyone knows no one can beat top ranking model duo, JJ Project.”

Jackson’s wide grin told Jinyoung that he was only teasing, the banter familiar and meant no personal harm. But the fact that he had mentioned JJ Project itself made Jinyoung think of that night in New York, after their last show in December, and the memory of that ache in his chest twinged a sign of return.

He shoved the feeling aside, physically venting out the gesture with Jackson as well, who merely responded with a bark of his trademark laughter and returned to clinging to Jinyoung a moment later, less like a koala and more like a loyal puppy now.

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends,” Jinyoung lamented.

“Because your life would be empty without me and you love me,” Jackson cooed, attempting to plant kisses on Jinyoung’s cheek.

Craning his neck away from Jackson’s persistent puckered lips, Jinyoung’s eyes suddenly caught onto the figure standing just by the door. How long he’d been standing there or how long he’d been staring, Jinyoung didn’t know. But those eyes bore into his, jaw clenched, chin slightly jutted, and hands tightened into fists by his side.

They hadn’t talked since the night in New York nor seen each other. But that wasn’t anything new. They only ever interacted during shows, and in hotel rooms afterwards. They were professional acquaintances in the most estranged sense, boundaries only broken by the sexual encounters they frequented.

Before Jinyoung could further fathom the look of absolute displeasure on Jaebeom’s face, the Head of their agency had stepped inside, causing the hush of conversation in the meeting room to quiet down and eventually fade into silence.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” their Head began, “I’ve called for a meeting today to introduce our new talent. Please welcome them to the family.”

Jackson scoffed under his breath at their Head’s introductory comment. Jinyoung nudged him lightly, reminding him that it was neither the time nor place to discuss the facade of kinship their agency portrayed outwardly. They were soon distracted by the entrance of a handful of tall, conventionally attractive men and women. At a second look, Jinyoung thought the term “girls and boys” more fitting considering how young they looked. Something twisted in his gut at the thought of their age. It didn’t make him feel better when he saw the bright, innocent spark in their eyes as they were shyly introduced one at a time.

“And last but not least, Hwang Hyunjin,” their Head was saying, going down the line of new recruits.

The boy neither bowed nor showed any acknowledgement of his introduction. Instead, his eyes had unwaveringly stayed wide and glued to Jinyoung. The fixed attention was a little unnerving and Jinyoung didn’t know when the boy had even started, but it was now amplified by the fact that everyone’s attention had shifted over to him when the boy remained indifferent towards his introduction, to the man who had seemingly become his entire, narrow world.

“Hwang Hyunjin?” their Head repeated.

Broken out of his reverie with a nudge from the girl next to him and several blinks later, Hwang Hyunjin finally became aware of the situation and immediately bowed deeply, profusely apologizing until Jackson’s tittering laughter brought in a lighter atmosphere.

“It’s okay,” Jackson said to the young model. “Jinyoung tends to have that effect.”

“I’m sorry,” Hwang Hyunjin said with one last jerky bow, a worried look thrown at the Head of the agency who didn’t look too pleased at being ignored, even if his body language was nonchalant. “I apologize, Sir. I’m just...a  _ huge _ fan of JJ Project, especially Park Jinyoung. He’s, uh, he’s actually the reason I wanted to model and, uh, he’s my role model and I think he’s  _ very  _ talented and inspiring and I...I just...God, Sir, I’m so sorry. I just never realized I’d get to meet Park Jinyoung my first day here.”

The Head of the agency chuckled at this, approaching Hwang Hyunjin with an arm around his smaller shoulders, gripping the boy in what seemed like a fatherly embrace, but the sight made Jinyoung want to belch out his single slice of apple.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing you made it into our agency, isn’t it? JJ Project are our pride and joy, the face of our company! I trust they’ll teach you some tricks of the trade about the high fashion world.”

Their Head glanced at Jaebeom, then Jinyoung, a smile on his face, but dark, serious eyes that only those who had been in the company long enough could decipher for what it truly was: a warning.

Jinyoung felt sick to the stomach, but he plastered a smile on his face. “Yes. Hyunjin, we should go out to dinner some time.”

Hwang Hyunjin looked as though he would pass out on the spot.

Wrapping up the brief introduction quickly, their Head ushered the new recruits out of the meeting room with the promise of a tour around the agency. Apparently that was cue for Jaebeom to look to Jinyoung, trying to catch his eye, hardly subtle if the nudging and meaningful glances Jackson was also giving Jinyoung signified anything. But Jinyoung’s mind strayed from the tangled strings of whatever was between himself and Jaebeom, choosing, instead, to frown at the leaving newbies, his heart sinking even more when he heard the bark of laughter from their Head, a fraudulent display in comparison to what they might face in the days to come.

***

It wasn’t until a month later that Jinyoung was able to deliver on his dinner promise with the young model. Intense training and preparation for the new recruits was strenuous and Jinyoung himself had been caught up in fittings for the Milan Fashion Week in the summer, even if that was still at least two seasons away (but the fashion world revolved around these events and even just partaking in it took the combined effort of the entire high fashion division for at least half a year).

It would have been an easy matter of adjusting both their schedules, but on the day that Jinyoung had run into Hyunjin to bring up the matter, a request had been made that Jinyoung had difficulty turning down.

“Do you...do you think your partner could join us too?” Hyunjin had stuttered, his eyes still just as wide as the first day they had met and his stature still as rigidly nervous.

Jinyoung had frowned at that, confusion at the request. “My partner?”

“Lim Jaebeom,” Hyunjin said.

Jinyoung pretended his insides didn’t turn at the mention of that name being his  _ partner _ , the connotation playing a little more than professional acquaintances in his mind. Hyunjin didn’t seem to notice the turmoil beginning to bubble in Jinyoung.

“I mean, is that too much to ask? I look up to you both and you’re the face of the company and your career is so inspiring and oh my God, it’s too much, isn’t it? I should just be grateful  _ you’re  _ willing to talk to me and I still can’t believe I got into the agency, dear God, what am I saying–.”

“I’ll ask him,” Jinyoung had said, putting a stop to the rambling with a raised hand.

Hyunjin’s eyes had grown impossibly wider.

“I’ll ask Jaebeom.”

And that was how he found himself sitting in silence at a dinner table for three with only two of the seats currently occupied.

Hyunjin had still not arrived.

He wasn’t tardy; he and Jaebeom simply had an affinity for arriving early. Although this may have been the first time in a very long while they had been to an appointment not entirely related to work and without the crowd of other models, designers, and staff to serve as buffers. Not entirely the first time, but definitely a novelty since their very own acceptance into the agency.

The awkward tension was more palpable than the horrid faux fur coats Jinyoung had been shown earlier that day for some of the winter line they would be showcasing in Milan (something he dreaded, considering the show itself will be held in the middle of summer).

“You picked a nice restaurant,” Jaebeom said, leaning back with his body almost sinking into the chair in a very unhealthy posture for his back. Jinyoung fought the urge to correct him, humming in response instead. “How’d today’s fitting go?”

Jinyoung fixed him with a stare that invoked close to no reaction from Jaebeom. “What are you trying to do, Jaebeom?”

He had the audacity to shrug lightly. “Making conversation,” he said. “We’ve still got at least fifteen minutes until the kid gets here.”

Jinyoung continued to stare at him in disbelief. “You and I, we don’t talk. We….”

“Fuck?” Jaebeom offered with that tilted smirk of his that made Jinyoung want to both bash his head on the table for being so petulantly annoying but also kiss away until Jaebeom was panting. “It’s not like we can do that in the middle of the restaurant. Unless, you were thinking….”

Jaebeom’s eyes strayed in the direction of the restrooms. Jinyoung’s gaze followed for the briefest moment for him to understand the insinuation before they returned with a full force glare back at a still-smirking Jaebeom.

“Let’s just wait in silence, okay?”

Jaebeom’s smirk dropped, instantly replaced by furrowed brows telltale of his annoyance. “Hey  _ you’re _ the one that actually wanted to have dinner with this kid. If you didn’t want me around, you shouldn’t have invited me along.”

“Hyunjin wanted to meet us  _ both _ , Jaebeom. He’s new and as people who have been in the industry for much longer, we should be able to give new talent some support.”

By now, Jinyoung was gritting his teeth, meeting Jaebeom’s annoyance with his own irritation. It was funny how even, seven years on, after working so often with one another to the point they had both reached the absolute peak of the modelling world, and despite the more intimate nature that their acquaintanceship had developed into, they were still very much like their younger, pre-teen selves at loggerheads with one another.

“Why do you care so much about the kid anyway?” Jaebeom wanted to know.

“Why do you have a problem with the kid?” Jinyoung shot back.

“I don’t,” Jaebeom said through gritted teeth, Jinyoung’s pushback really putting him on the very edge. “You’re the one that’s suddenly taking up the responsible senior role when you’ve never shown interest in any of the new talent over the years.”

Jaebeom fixed Jinyoung with a curious stare that Jinyoung found difficult to decipher. Whatever possibility ran through Jinyoung’s mind, it definitely wasn’t the bitter words that Jaebeom spat out shortly afterwards.

“Was this Jackson’s idea? You two seemed chummy before the new talents were introduced.”

Jinyoung’s jaw dropped almost comically, the utter ridicule of the implication rendering him speechless. He would have retorted back and called Jaebeom out for his ludicrous remark if a soft gasp didn’t tear both their attention from the battle of tension brewing between them.

Hwang Hyunjin, again, looked as though he might pass out at having both Jinyoung and Jaebeom’s eyes on him. He was a tad taller than both of them, but the way his eyes widened to an exponential diameter and his jaw dropped made him look as small as a newly walking toddler.

“Mr. Park, Mr. Lim, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Hyunjin punctuated each greeting with a deep bow.

Jinyoung’s expression immediately softened and a crinkly smile broke over his face. “Just Jinyoung is fine, Hyunjin. You don’t need to be so formal. You’re part of the family now.”

He shot a look at Jaebeom who had watched Hyunjin with an almost lazy look. Catching Jinyoung’s gaze, Jaebeom rolled his eyes but bit back the sigh that was bound to come out of his mouth.

“Yes, welcome to the family, Hyunjin. Please call me Jaebeom.” The drawl in which Jaebeom spoke almost made Jinyoung want to punch his face for refusing to put in the effort. But Hyunjin was already stuttering another train of endless gratitude for their presence.

“Thank you, again, for coming out tonight and-and,” at this, Hyunjin turned fully to Jinyoung, “for even offering, I know you two must be really busy with Milan coming up and everything else in between. It-it really means a lot to me that you’re both willing to take time out of your busy schedule to have dinner with me.”

Jinyoung couldn’t help the hand he put on Hyunjin’s jittery shoulder. “Hey,” he began, “we’re just as happy to be here with you.”

He chanced a glance at Jaebeom. It was funny, really, the extent to which they could communicate nonverbally, the way they could read each other’s most subtle gestures like a flashing neon light. If Jinyoung allowed himself to dwell on those thoughts, a voice inside his head (that sounded oddly and suspiciously like Jackson) would whisper the word, ‘ _ soulmates _ ’. But as it was, he had seen the crack in Jaebeom’s facade of polite pleasantry, the sharpening of his gaze that almost betrayed Jinyoung’s words of mutual appreciation for Hyunjin’s company. The minute warning look he sent Jaebeom’s way immediately put out that fire, though.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom echoed, the smile on his face losing a little bit of its front and weighing in more as genuine, “just as long as we get to order food soon. I’m  _ starving _ .”

Hyunjin laughed nervously, but his posture visibly relaxed as Jaebeom called a server over and proceeded to make his orders, throwing out recommendations to Hyunjin in the process (the poor kid seemed a little lost with the extensive menu).

“Oh, and please bring us a bottle of your finest Sangiovese,” Jaebeom said once Jinyoung and Hyunjin had made their respective orders.

Jinyoung froze, almost not noticing the server taking the menu out of his hand. He fought very hard to not look at Jaebeom, but it was a much more difficult feat to push down the heat rising in his cheeks.

_ He remembered? _

By the very slight tap of Jaebeom’s knee on his under the table, it seemed like he did. And maybe it was also an apology of sorts for their earlier argument. Jinyoung couldn’t help but feel the tension seep a little off his shoulders, animosity no longer thrumming between them.

And that was a good thing. Because the rest of their night with Hyunjin turned out to be a much more pleasant evening than Jinyoung had imagined. Hyunjin was enthusiastic, excited at having his two most respected people at his disposal to answer burning questions and share insider info on the modelling world.

Hyunjin himself couldn’t seem to stop expressing his disbelief at having been accepted at their agency and excitement to start doing high-profile walks. Jinyoung fought off a wince every time Hyunjin brought this up, unsure if it was too early to speak his mind and potentially destroy Hyunjin’s dreams into rubble. At the same time, Jinyoung could see why Hyunjin had been accepted and was quite optimistic he had the actual, physical potential to live out his dreams, so it might do good to stay quiet for the time being.

“There’s also something I wanted to tell you both,” Hyunjin was saying, the smile on his face stretching to impossible proportions. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I wanted to tell you two as people I look up to and because I hope you can help guide me in the process.”

At this point, Jinyoung had gone through almost the entire bottle of wine on his own and moving onto the second, Jaebeom and the server (seemingly tipped by Jaebeom) refilling his glass in much greater frequency than the others (Jaebeom’s glass always miraculously still full whenever refills were made and Hyunjin politely refusing after his second glass).

It became quite hard for Jinyoung to hide his own emotions when the young boy made his big reveal.

“I’ll be walking in Milan.”

For lack of a better description, Jinyoung  _ whoop _ -ed, cutting through the murmuring chatter of the restaurant and drawing all eyes on him immediately. He paid no heed, though, getting out of his seat with a loud scrape of his chair on the floor, and proceeded to engulf Hyunjin in a hug. Taken aback but not at all objecting, Hyunjin hugged him back, face buried in Jinyoung’s shoulders.

“Congratulations, Hyunjin! That’s big!” Jinyoung said, his voice back to its normal volume and the restaurant background noise resuming.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin said with a sniffle. Jinyoung’s shoulder was beginning to dampen but when they pulled out of the hug, Hyunjin’s eyes were already dry. “I know this is  _ huge _ and I’m so grateful I was even given the opportunity. I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Jinyoung couldn’t help ruffling Hyunjin’s hair in a very personal and affectionate gesture. “You’ll do fine. We’ll be there too, so if you need anything, you can come to us.” Jinyoung turned to Jaebeom who had remained in his seat. “Right, Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom nodded an affirmative, but it didn’t immediately register with Jinyoung. There was that look again. The one he’d seen that night in New York and at other infrequent and rare times before. The sparkle in Jaebeom’s eyes, much softer than his signature sharp and intimidating gaze, and with so much depth, Jinyoung felt himself drowning in them. It was a look that made Jinyoung want to bleed with emotions, let his inner heart speak on a lifted platform.

It made Jinyoung want to lose everything if it meant being with Jaebeom.

“Jinyoung?”

Apparently he’d zoned out for longer than was considered normal to the point that Jaebeom had been calling his name to get his attention. Hyunjin was also looking at him with concern.

“Yeah, sorry, I think I had too much wine,” Jinyoung said, shaking his head.

Slightly swaying on the spot at his own revelation, he felt a warm palm land on his lower back, steadying his frame. He looked over his shoulder to see Jaebeom’s face mere inches away from his, the planes of his jaw and cheekbones ever prominent from this distance, the sharpness of his nose captivating Jinyoung. But Jaebeom’s eyes weren’t on him.

“I think we should call it a night,” he was saying to Hyunjin.

“Ah, ye-yes, it is getting rather late,” Hyunjin said, glancing around for a server as he dug into his pocket.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get the bill,” Jaebeom said, a small smile on his face.

“But I’m the one that invited you guys out,” Hyunjin insisted as a server walked over.

Jaebeom waved away Hyunjin’s hesitation. “Consider it a welcoming dinner from us.”

The boy effectively broke into a wide grin, proceeding to bow deeply and thank the two in the same starstruck manner he did when he had arrived. Jinyoung watched the exchange with mild interest, head tilted slightly and lopsided smile on his face. Something warm bubbled in his insides that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed.

“Can you get home on your own?” Jaebeom asked.

“Ye-yes,” Hyunjin stuttered. “The subway should still be running.” He glanced worriedly at Jinyoung. “Is he…?”

“I’ll take him home,” Jaebeom assured.

It was only when Hyunjin had left, bills settled and they were stepping out into the still cool spring breeze to wait for the taxi they’d asked the restaurant to call, that Jinyoung let himself turn to Jaebeom with a lazy, inebriated grin.

“You’re taking me home?” he asked, giggling. His feet seemed to finally fail him and Jaebeom had to wrap both arms around Jinyoung’s middle to prevent his fall. Jinyoung all but leaned into the embrace, an audible sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m taking you to your home, yes,” Jaebeom said, voice a little stiff and refusing to look at Jinyoung.

“You don’t know where I live,” Jinyoung drawled, almost into Jaebeom’s shoulder because it was taking much too much effort to hold his own head up.

“I texted Jackson and asked him,” Jaebeom said simply, gaze at the empty street ahead.

This made Jinyoung snort. “You  _ hate _ Jackson.”

“I don’t hate Jackson,” he said.

“Then why were you mad that I’m close with Jackson?”

Jaebeom didn’t answer, choosing to instead, look up and down the still empty street.

“Were you  _ jealous _ ?”

Evasively, Jaebeom merely nudged Jinyoung forward with a declaration of, “The taxi is here,” before opening the door and gently helping Jinyoung get seated securely.

Jaebeom climbed in himself afterwards and it only took him giving Jinyoung’s address to the driver before he had a whole adult male sprawled all over him, stretching his seatbelt to its maximum. Drunk Jinyoung was borderline uninhibited Jinyoung and he held no qualms when he snuggled his head and part of his upper body into a comfortable position on Jaebeom’s lap and topped it off by reaching for one of his formerly, stiffly placed hand by his sides, to softly topped on Jinyoung’s head. The request was silent, but Jaebeom tentatively, and slowly, let his fingers ruin the neatly styled strands of Jinyoung’s hair.

Jinyoung hummed happily, Jaebeom’s warm presence and the massaging fingers on his scalp pulling his body and mind into a comfortable lull. Like this, he could forget all about his worries for Hyunjin and the other new recruits, nerves about the upcoming Milan show, his confusing feelings, and all about what may or may not be happening between himself and Jaebeom. As though that train of thought refused to let him be drunk in peace, a small tinge of hurt hit him.

Jinyoung groped around for Jaebeom’s other hand. He was surprised when Jaebeom didn’t pull away as he entangled their fingers together and clutched him tight.

“Thank you, Jaebeom.”

He didn’t know what he was thanking Jaebeom for. Maybe for agreeing to come to dinner tonight with Hyunjin, for seeming as though he had truly enjoyed himself throughout dinner, for uncomplainingly stepping up to take care of drunk Jinyoung, or for everything else Jinyoung couldn’t form into words in the way his heart called for Jaebeom.

But Jaebeom’s hand returned the squeeze Jinyoung gave, and that was enough to ease Jinyoung’s mind to drunken slumber.

He didn’t wake up until Jaebeom was half-dragging him out of the taxi and into his building. He vaguely saw Jaebeom check his phone before inputting the security code and hauling him into his apartment. His body quickly met the familiar soft bounce of his bed and cool sheets, his shoes somehow already removed and his trousers and jacket following as his mind worked to catch up with him on why and how he had ended up in his own bed.

His mind barely allowed itself any time to finetune the details, let alone put them together, however, alarms figuratively and abruptly began blaring in his head at the now retreating figure heading towards his bedroom door, further away from where Jinyoung felt that figure should be. Unaware that he had somehow been surreptitiously  _ tucked in _ and had to scramble to escape his heavy duvet, Jinyoung made a sound close to a petulant whine, before stumbling ungracefully out of his own bed, the tipsiness doing nothing for his coordination.

“Where are you going?” Jinyoung slurred, tripping over both his duvet and his own feet in his haste to get to Jaebeom.

He almost collapsed in a heap in Jaebeom’s arms, clutching tightly at his shoulders for support. Had his shoulders always been this broad and sturdy? How had Jinyoung not noticed with all the times he’s seen Jaebeom naked?

“Maybe you were too busy focusing on other parts of me all those times?”

Jinyoung blinked, owlish. Had he said those things out loud?

“Yes,” Jaebeom was saying with a soft chuckle—Jinyoung could drown himself in that chuckle, “and you still are.”

Throwing the best glare he could given his state of inebriation, Jinyoung pulled himself up to his full height, making full use of Jaebeom’s shoulders to ground him, encircling his arms around Jaebeom’s nape to lock their bodies close. Like a practiced dance, Jaebeom’s arms went around Jinyoung’s waist and secured that lock.

“You said you would take me home,” Jinyoung mumbled into Jaebeom’s shoulder, oddly aware of how childish he sounded.

Jaebeom gave another breathy laugh. “Jinyoung, you  _ are  _ home.”

Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was also having Jaebeom there with him in his drunken stupor, but Jinyoung felt entitled and particularly inclined to being pampered, indulged. He wanted Jaebeom to coddle him, to give him his undivided attention. Why couldn’t Jaebeom  _ get _ that?

“Then why are you leaving?” The whining seemed to fall as his current default.

“Jinyoungie, this is  _ your  _ home, not mine,” Jaebem said, hands rubbing up and down Jinyoung’s back consolingly. “I need to go home too.” Jinyoung could almost melt happily into the gesture and intimate naming.

Letting out perhaps his most pronounced wail yet, Jinyoung pulled Jaebeom’s head down to level with his face, his slumped posture only increasing the usually miniscule height gap between the two. Jaebeom could have pulled away, it really would have taken very little effort on his part to stop Jinyoung, but this was the game they played, the way they were together, magnets drawn inseparably, one’s action mirrored by the other. And so when Jaebeom had all but an open window to escape the situation, he let Jinyoung tug him into a kiss.

Even despite his double vision, the weakness in his limbs from holding himself up, and the beginnings of a pounding headache, the kiss was smooth, silky, and so, so soft. If Jinyoung had been in his right mind, he would have stopped to ponder this change of pace in their intimacy. They didn’t do soft. They didn’t do smooth. They did impatient, angry, demanding.

Jinyoung’s heart ached for more and maybe if he was a little more sober, he would realize the ache meant something more. But in this state, all he could do was hang tighter onto Jaebeom’s nape, deepening the kiss, calling to his lips, his tongue, finding his efforts were responded with enthusiasm, passionate but without angry vigour.

“I love you.”

They both stopped the kiss at the same time.

Both their eyes shot open, locked on one another. For the longest of moments, they stared at each other, unsure how to proceed. Neither one dared break the eye contact nor the moment, tension so heavily palpable. Jinyoung may have been the drunk one, but Jaebeom’s eyes were the ones showing unsettling confusion and remarkable lack of focus. A far cry from Jaebeom’s usually confident demeanor. It made Jinyoung want to blanket him in assurance and comfort.

He didn’t dare make a single move nor say a single thing, afraid that it would cloud those eyes once more, leaving him back with his guessing game of Jaebeom’s emotions. Luckily, Jaebeom was the one to take that first step.

“You should rest.” His words were coupled with a firm lead of Jinyoung back to his bed, but the grip on his waist trembled ever so slightly.

This time Jinyoung went willingly, unprotesting and without a single fight when Jaebeom tucked him a second time that night. All he could do was watch Jaebeom take his time making sure he was comfortable, adjusting his pillows and blanket until Jinyoung gave a small sigh of relief and felt his eyes closing involuntarily if only briefly. Fighting against the calling slumber, Jinyoung watched Jaebeom attentively make sure he had water and aspirin within an arm’s reach and that he was secure in his duvet to not fall off the bed.

His eyes never left Jaebeom even when he felt gentle fingers brush back the stray strands of his hair out of his face, especially when he felt those fingers linger on his forehead, his temple, his cheek. It seemed that Jaebeom hadn’t even realized he had been doing that, his movements halting when he caught Jinyoung’s gaze.

“Jaebeom…?”

Drawing his hand back quickly, as though anymore contact with Jinyoung burned him, Jaebeom took a firm step away from Jinyoung’s bed.

“I should go,” he said, hands clenched tightly into fists at his side.

This time, Jinyoung didn’t stop him. But he also didn’t sleep until much later after Jaebeom had left, the resounding closing of his door declaring his departure. His mind couldn’t rest even with the fatigue residing deep in his bones and the comfort of the cocoon he had been put in.

Partly because his mind could barely fathom the tender moment they had shared, one that went beyond brief and fleeting like their night in New York. Partly also because, for the first time since he had known Jaebeom and they had begun these adulterous rendezvous, they had ended a night without sex.

But mostly because try as he may, with all the strength of mind he could muster, he still could not figure out nor ascertain to himself whether it had been himself or Jaebeom who had uttered those words of confession. Those three words of deep, pure emotions that spoke louder than any actions ever could convey.

He didn’t know, and given the possible repercussions, a part of him wished to never know.

***

The months, weeks, and days leading up to the Milan fashion week was predictably and inevitably busy. Perhaps busy was quite the understatement, given that having more than a couple of hours of sleep and any meal amounting to more than two spoonfuls were considered luxuries. They’d be lucky to even get any intake of proper food that wasn’t fruit, energy bars, or caffeine, amidst the rigorous weekly weigh-ins and measurements they had to endure, its frequency turning to daily as the week of the walk drew nearer.

For Jinyoung, this was yet another routine in his seven-year-long career. He could still vividly recall the days when he was just eighteen and accepted into the agency after secretly leaving home to audition, only to be forced into partnership with then nineteen-year-old Jaebeom, a stubborn hothead whose first reaction to any contention was anger. Jinyoung had hardly been any better: just as bull-headed and with the sense of spoiled entitlement that only came out of being the youngest boy in his family. Jinyoung could hardly say they had moved past that, but they had definitely found a way to better vent their frustrations, as unhealthy as their hook-ups actually were for both their mental and emotional state.

Only recently had that truce been compromised by whatever had happened in New York and particularly that night after their dinner with Hwang Hyunjin. But again, just like after New York, neither one brought up the topic, a silent agreement, like always, to sweep the occurrence under the rug, no matter how bulky that rug was beginning to be. And again, like last time, they managed to stay out of each other’s way most of the time; their schedules for fitting and preparations not quite aligned.

Not that Jinyoung minded. A major fashion week was stressful enough without the added burden of having to wade through this marsh of a mystery that was his and Jaebeom’s acquaintanceship, in its strictest technical meaning. Instead, Jinyoung’s mind had been plagued with a different worry that had only built up slowly as the event loomed closer: Hwang Hyunjin.

Jinyoung vaguely recalled carrying concern for the boy when he had revealed that he would be doing Milan, knowing it was both a big trust and responsibility for someone so young who had just entered the agency. In the midst of the scattered puzzle of his and Jaebeom’s labyrinth of issues, he hadn’t given the young model much thought again. At least not until they were scheduled for a fitting together just one month prior to the show.

“Hyunjin, are you alright?”

Heavily-bagged eyes and a lethargic body turned slowly to Jinyoung, arms still held out for measurements to be adjusted, but almost visibly limp as a noodle.

“Huh?” Was Hyunjin’s first response. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine.”

The fact that his body mass looked half what Jinyoung remembered it being during the first time he was introduced and that the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed so much they almost looked hollow, Hyunjin seemed to be anything but fine.

“Are you eating and sleeping as much as you can?” Jinyoung asked because there was no way around possibly getting  _ enough _ food and rest like a normal human being, but each person had to make sure they got at least  _ some _ .

Predictably, Hyunjin gave a noncommittal shrug, which was more like a slump of his shoulders than an actual, deliberate shrug. Jinyoung felt like he should say something more, torn between words of encouragement or comfort. In the few seconds it took him to internally make a decision, Hyunjin was done with his fitting and already bidding him goodbye as he went to another training session.

Jinyoung watched him leave with a determination to keep an eye on the boy in the days to come.

His observations did not bode well. Not in the way he noticed Hyunjin’s constant weight loss over the next few weeks, and most definitely not in the way he caught Hyunjin constantly looking close to passing out every time they crossed paths briefly. Jinyoung would have approached him, to try to ensure himself of Hyunjin’s well-being, but, well, time was quite the luxury he couldn’t afford. More so for Hyunjin, an untested rookie who not only had to prove to the agency that he was worthy of being recruited, but also that he had what it took to be a top-ranking high fashion model. It was a lot of pressure being put on such green shoulders, and it showed.

The only time Jinyoung managed to see Hyunjin for more than a few brief seconds was, unfortunately, on the very last day of Milan. They were both sitting in the dressing room, the hair and make-up team rushing around to work quickly in preparation for the show commencing in the next half hour. Hyunjin was sitting right behind Jinyoung and it would have been so easy to turn in his chair to strike a conversation, but interruptions continued to happen in the form of fussy designers, agency staff doing last minute schedule run-through, and, ultimately, one Wang Jackson, who was dragging along a petite, blonde man in a frame-drowning black hoodie with red marks.

“Jinyoungie! JINYOUNGIE!” Jackson fought his way through the crowd of people in that confined space, uncaring for how many sides he elbowed nor how many people he offended by screaming his head off in a small room.

“Has anyone ever told you how loud you are?” Jinyoung criticized but with a large grin on his face.

Pushing away the hair and make-up staff around him, he stood to give Jackson a proper hug, his best friend refusing to let Jinyoung go quickly and forcing them into an awkward rocking motion.

“You act like you haven’t seen me in eons,” Jinyoung chuckled.

Jackson shot him down with a glare. “I  _ haven’t _ . All this high fashion crap has been keeping my best friend from spending time with me.”

“You mean it’s  _ saved _ me from hearing you constantly whine about  _ still _ not getting any underwear commercials?” Jinyoung teased.

“If they could just see the potential I have, they’d all be grappling at my feet to hire me!” Jackson declared indignantly.

Jinyoung laughed, again, shaking his head at the incredulity and general unabashedness that was his best friend. Then again, he really wouldn’t have Jackson any other way; it was his warm friendship and, most times, ludicrous humour, that had been his constant welcoming companion in an otherwise cold world.

“Since it might take a while before Jackson stops grumbling about his unachieved undergarment endeavours, maybe I should just go ahead and introduce myself,” the petite man whom Jackson had dragged along spoke up, voice soft but friendly. “I’m – .”

“Mark!” Jinyoung exclaimed, his mind making the connection when he properly took in that face.

Mark blinked a few times, taken aback by the recognition and his hand still awkwardly extended for a polite handshake. Jinyoung wouldn’t have any of that; he pulled Mark into a hug as well, albeit a much briefer one than his with Jackson’s had been.

“You, uh, you remember me?” 

Jinyoung clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Of course I do! How could I forget when Jackson couldn’t stop whining about why you decided to leave the agency rather than take up commercial with him.”

At this, Jackson let out a very undignified noise from the very depths of his throat and tried to subtly throw another glare in Jinyoung’s way. By their second meeting, Jinyoung had pretty much figured out that as strong and intimidating as Jackson’s first impression might be, he was anything but. Wang Jackson was a man of heart and warmth, enough to go around for everyone he cared about. If he was capable of murder, it would only be in the name of love.

Mark goodnaturedly laughed along with Jinyoung, ignoring Jackson’s spluttering protests. Although his protests at Mark was much more subdued and — dare Jinyoung say — shyer. Maybe there was something more to this re-introduction than a simple reunion with a former prospective talent at the agency.

“So what did Jackson bribe you with to convince you that it was a good idea to accompany him to watch the show?” Jinyoung asked, the hidden implication that he was there  _ with  _ Jackson clearly pronounced and open for correction.

Mark rubbed his neck a little shyly. “Um, actually….”

“He’s not here  _ just  _ as an audience,” Jackson cut in, any semblance of prior disgruntledness and bashfulness vanished, instead, replaced with a twinkle to his eyes that suspiciously resembled pride. “His collection was being shown in yesterday’s section.”

It took a moment before Jinyoung could process that bit of information and comprehend its actual meaning, no implication withheld from the way Jackson had announced it with enthusiasm simply exuding out of him. But when he did, Jinyoung couldn’t help mirror Jackson.

“That’s amazing!” Jinyoung exclaimed, unable to resist giving Mark a proper hug this time, beyond the politely brief one he had given earlier.

By then, Mark had seemingly softened out of his nerves and welcomed the hug with a small laugh. “Thank you,” pulling away when Jinyoung would let him. “It’s been rough, but hard work pays off, I guess. Although, I wouldn’t say I’m nowhere near accomplished enough to hire JJ Project for my clothes.”

The laugh Jinyoung gave in return was hollow, forced, and he barely made an effort to hide it. “Yeah, you’ll have to talk to the agency about that. We have no say about which designers we work with.”

Mark frowned, more out of concern than confusion. “So nothing’s changed, huh?”

Jinyoung shook his head solemnly, the exchange between two long-parted acquaintances suddenly turning into some sort of secret inside knowledge between best friends. Had they been given the time and weren’t currently in the midst of the frenzy of a major fashion week’s closing show, perhaps they would have gone deeper into the unhealthy entitlement the agency was operating and how it affected the industry.

Nevertheless, Mark being able to break into Milan fashion week as a designer must have meant there was positive progress in the bigger picture. Jinyoung was about to point out just as much when his name was called from just outside of the dressing room, demanding that he already be in stand by for their last show of the day and the entire event. At this, Mark excused himself, not wanting to get in the way of Jinyoung’s preparation, promising to be rooting from him from his seat in the audience. Jinyoung also didn’t miss the bright smile he sent Jackson’s way, his best friend turning all shades of red in return, but choosing to stay behind with Jinyoung for a little longer.

“We should arrange to meet up over coffee or something with Mark, maybe after the show,” Jinyoung said as he sat back down to let his make-up and hair team finish the last touches to his look.

“We, uh,” Jackson paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous, “we had plans after the show.”

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow, immediately getting hit with a highlighter brush. “‘We’ as in....”

“We as in Mark and I,” Jackson finished, still not meeting Jinyoung’s eyes in the mirror.

He gave Jackson a knowing smirk. One that Jackson caught on without having to actually  _ look  _ at him and responded with an eye-roll as any other right-minded best friend would. Jinyoung would have thought that had been the end of the topic, not wanting to pry deeper into whatever may or may not be brewing between his friend and their old almost-fellow model. But he should have known better that Jackson would be just as tactful.

“It’s not like you would have any free time after the show anyway,” Jackson said, following Jinyoung as he left to finally get his outfit on. “Don’t you usually have your own, two-people only plans?”

The punchline of that joke was that during the exact moment Jackson chose to make that remark, Jaebeom was standing a mere few feet away from them, already dressed in his outfit and making sure he was portraying it as intended by the designer. Jackson was barely subtle in the way he jerked his head in Jaebeom’s direction, cementing the fact that the timing for the comment had not been at all coincidental.

Jackson was saved from any physical retaliation only due to the fact that their staff forcefully ushered him out in order to help Jinyoung properly prepare his clothes, ensuring everything was presented as the designer had intended. Jackson had no choice but to bid him two thumbs up and a promise to embarrassingly scream for him like a deranged fanboy from the audience.

It didn’t, however, save him from Jaebeom shooting him a curious look, though, and, for once in their entire career and interaction with one another, it would be the first time Jaebeom had opened his mouth to initiate a conversation with him that was neither work-related nor a subtle innuendo for a later hook-up, and actually hinted at genuine interest in Jinyoung’s life outside the glitz and glamour of high fashion modelling.

“Did Jackson just say that you had plans for tonight?” he asked, immediately looking away from Jinyoung when he spoke, his attention focused on tidying up the coat he had on.

Jinyoung looked over at him, unable to help the frown that came over him. This wasn’t them, this wasn’t how they worked. Seven years on and they had developed a routine of sorts, one that definitely did not include verbal, everyday conversation of mundane matters such as what they did outside of work. This was almost the same thing he had done at that restaurant before Hyunjin finally came and that had escalated rather quickly. So what was he trying to do? What did Jaebeom hope to achieve out of the question? Had he  _ not _ caught the insinuation Jackson was implying, complete with the hardly subtle head-jerk he had given?

“What’s it to you?” Jinyoung asked, not meaning to sound so harsh but realizing only belatedly when the words had already made their way out of his mouth. Not that he would take them back.

At this, Jaebeom looked at Jinyoung, clearly affronted at the unprovoked bite. The frown on his face and the way his stance turned determinedly in Jinyoung’s direction showed early signs of a responding retort, possibly words that would cut deep enough to trigger an argument of sorts. He looked ready to open his mouth, the words at the very end of his sharp tongue, but then the staff handling Jinyoung’s clothes shuffled between them, a reminder that their conversation was not exactly private.

He settled for a questioning gaze at Jinyoung. “I’ll see you on the runway,” he said before walking away.

Jinyoung would pretend that he didn’t watch Jaebeom leave, watch his back disappear in a sea of colourful garments and tall frames, every instinct inside of Jinyoung screaming to run after Jaebeom, hold him and never let go. It was instinct that Jinyoung had practiced ease in squashing down until it merely felt like a vague itch under his skin. And this time was not any different.

The hubbub leading up to the closing walk was nearing and that served, as work always did, as a sufficient distraction for Jinyoung to keep his thoughts away from the ache that came from trying to navigate the muddled puzzle that was Lim Jaebeom. Even more so when the one thing that had truly built worry for him during preparations for the show became a blaring siren of warning in the form of a stickly thin young model lined up a few heads before him, ready to do his final walk for the night.

Jinyoung wondered if he should step out of the line to approach the young man now swaying slightly where he stood between two female models. The decision was made for him when, as Jinyoung’s frown grew in concern at Hyunjin, far from firmly regaining composure, the boy only seemed to swing with as much force as a rogue pendulum. He should have seen it coming ever since taking note of the model’s less-than-secure posture, but he was nevertheless still very much jolted out of his own thoughts when Hyunjin fell almost dramatically slow in a heap on the floor.

Jinyoung could not have run faster to him, the only one who did amongst the dispersing line of models and staff.

“Hyunjin!  _ Shit _ .” Even before touching his forehead, Jinyoung knew the boy’s temperature was unhealthily high, if the sweat profusely dripping down his forehead was any indication. “Hyunjin?” 

He tried to slap the boy awake, but he merely whimpered and his breaths continued to come in short gasps. Cradling Hyunjin’s head in his hands, Jinyoung frantically looked around him for help.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” he shouted.

Not a single person moved. If anything, they took a step backwards. The entire room of models, staff, all of whom Jinyoung had known and worked with for almost his entire career, barely shifted in the face of one of their own, fallen and in need of dire help. They watched, neither stunned nor confused, simply watching at a distance as though being in close proximity with Jinyoung and the ill Hyunjin put them in danger of some sort of contagion. Quite possibly not the actual sickly kind, but the kind that could risk their place in the runway.

“For fuck’s sake!” Jinyoung cried out, forcing himself to leave Hyunjin on the floor, but not before taking off his jacket to create a makeshift pillow for the poor boy, to the mortified, collective gasp from the group. Jinyoung felt his blood boil even more than they were reacting more violently at his treatment of the designer clothing than they were of their own collapsed colleague.

He was about to make his way to the waiting room with all their personal belongings safely stored, hoping to get to his phone and contact immediate help, but a staff, one of the more senior managers of the agency, barricaded his way.

“You have a show to do. It starts in two minutes. Get back in line,” the manager instructed sternly.

If you asked anybody who knew him, personally or professionally, nobody would ever portray Jinyoung as a man of unmanageable anger. Aloof, coy, and deceptively a perfectionist, perhaps, but most definitely not someone known for resorting to violence.

Yet there was no denying that Jinyoung, at that very moment, with those very words uttered to his face, had been ready to throw punches. His hands had definitely balled into fists and were gearing up to act as a vessel of all his pent-up frustrations and anger at the agency for their complete and utter disregard for their employee’s well-being. It would take so little, a simple flex of Jinyoung’s muscle and the man standing before him would have been on the receiving end of a painful blow to the face.

A hand on his forearm suddenly soothed Jinyoung out of the infuriated tremor, the coiling tension almost effortlessly seeping out of him in an instant with that simple touch. Something familiar about that touch acted as a catalyst to calm him to his very bones and he could not fathom why. When he turned to direct his attention at the source of the touch, it was the last person he would have ever expected.

“Jae – .”

“I called an ambulance,” Jaebeom said, expression stoic but voice soft. “It’s on its way.”

To say Jinyoung was stunned would have been a complete understatement. The last conversation they had, mere minutes ago, was a precursor to what would have been a heated argument, and even before that, they had also almost bit each other’s head off in a public restaurant. But this was far from that raging fire that Jinyoung always felt the need to overpower.  _ That  _ Jaebeom he was used to, could navigate around easily from years of practiced experience. But this was the Jaebeom that had taken him home after dinner, taken care of his drunken ass and put him safely to bed, making sure he was well cared for before he left. This was the Jaebeom that Jinyoung didn’t know how to deal with.

It left Jinyoung torn between wanting to throw himself at Jaebeom in a back-breaking hug and kissing his face crazy, but also wanting to rip apart his head and heart to figure out what lay beneath all these irregular gestures as of late that only left Jinyoung disoriented and guessing. 

But time was a luxury Jinyoung didn’t have. As off-balance as Jaebeom made him and as much as he would have loved to spend hours deciphering the meaning behind everything Jaebeom had done, Hyunjin was a more pressing issue at hand. And it was with both a grateful but questioning look that Jinyoung left Jaebeom with before tending to Hyunjin as they awaited for medical help to arrive.

Adamant as he was to stay by Hyunjin’s side, ignoring the resumed bustling of people around him, his agency’s staff was just as adamant at getting Jinyoung to resume his place in preparation of the final show. Their yelling, threats, and public shaming barely registered to him. His stubborn resolve never wavered and it cost them almost half an hour tardiness to the start of the show. Jinyoung received a very angry call from the Head of their agency afterwards, but seeing Hyunjin safely taken by paramedics and ensured that he was in no immediate danger was well worth all the anger directed at him. 

Barely five minutes after Hyunjin had been taken to be cared for, Jinyoung was already walking down the runway, his outfit hastily re-steamed for the show, his expression a perfect mask of composure and nonchalance, not a single note of a giveaway that he had been in a shouting match and absolute distress mere moments before. Not a single person needed to know what had taken place backstage, the ‘technical issues’ excuse easily accepted as it was the final show of the week, the big gong to end it all.

The only time Jinyoung’s mask broke, minute and lightning brief, unnoticeable to a crowd sitting feet away, was when his return walk coincided with Jaebeom’s entry walk. Much like New York, their eyes met for the barest of a second, locked as though the world belonged to just the two of them, a myriad of unspoken words travelling between their gazes. But unlike last time, Jinyoung had a hard time reading that foreign lack of sharpness in Jaebeom’s eyes, the usual electricity in them subdued to a much warmer burn.

He couldn’t help the way it made his chest ache with a familiar pain. He tried to swallow his emotions, his thoughts on whatever possibilities Jaebeom’s gaze had held. That had clearly not been an invitation for sex. It was something more. Something so much more. Jinyoung wasn’t sure he wanted to take it. Because he didn’t think Jaebeom would either.

***

Perhaps it was rather poetic that they were breaking out of so many of their regularities. At this point, Jinyoung felt nothing could possibly add to the perplexity of his and Jaebeom’s relationship (for lack of a better term). And so it was with this thought and everything else that had happened recently between himself and Jaebeom weighing his mind, that he stood in front of Jaebeom’s hotel door, knuckles poised to knock.

While this was the absolute definition of what they would call perfunctory, the fact that they hadn’t exactly already wound up in bed together in itself was out of the ordinary. Add in the fact that it was Jinyoung who stood in front of Jaebeom’s door, clearly the initiative in his hands, rather than the other way around, was also something that had never occurred. There had never been an agreed rule that Jaebeom had to make the first move, but regardless whose hotel room they would eventually occupy, it was always,  _ always _ Jaebeom who pulled the trigger.

And so, unsurprisingly, Jaebeom was a little puzzled when he opened the door to Jinyoung, dressed down and fresh from his shower. It seemed Jaebeom had done the same, if his wet hair was any indication.

“I thought you had plans with Jackson,” he said, eyes wide.

It was such a normal question, one clearly invoked from the uncorrected assumption Jaebeom had harboured earlier that day. But the mere fact that Jaebeom had chosen to cling onto that misinformation rather than take Jinyoung’s proffered presence at face value and taking advantage of it, felt like another strong gust of wind blowing Jinyoung off-kilter. And maybe it was the fear of delving deeper into what this might mean, what this level of consideration implied of Jaebeom’s actions as of late, or perhaps it was also a desire to incite a much more explicit clarity to the situation, but either way, Jinyoung reacted the only way he knew.

The lips he kissed were sweet, a hint of freshness telling that Jaebeom had opened a bottle on his own before Jinyoung arrived. With practiced ease, Jaebeom let Jinyoung stumble their way further into the hotel room, letting the door fall back into place silently as they continued the awkward footwork of navigating onto the bed. Jinyoung wouldn’t let Jaebeom’s lips leave his, refused to relinquish the arms he locked around those broad shoulders, not even as they landed in a heap of limbs on the bed, Jinyoung cushioned by Jaebeom’s warm body.

He tried not to think, tried to keep his mind from reading into the little details of intimacy that were glaringly so different from every other night they had spent together. He could not and would not let the ache in his heart tell him that this was anything more than a physical interaction between two sexually compatible people to find release. Not even when Jaebeom let him take control from on top. His eyes—Jaebeom’s dark, dark eyes—never once wavered away from his. Jaebeom’s expression so focused and concentrated in watching Jinyoung, as though he was studying Jinyoung, taking in every bit of Jinyoung he could afford to take. Those eyes went far beyond just reading into pleasure cues that would enhance their night together. And when Jinyoung leaned down to kiss him, feeling so uncomfortably exposed by that gaze and looking to distract himself from reading too much into it, Jaebeom’s kiss had been gentle, tender, soft. Caressing. Caring.

It took everything in Jinyoung to remain focused on the physical task at hand, to not drown in the hopes and wishes his heart called for. At the end of it, he was both relieved that he would no longer be subject to the intensity of Jaebeom’s stare, but also worried for what lay ahead. As far as he was concerned, these were uncharted waters they were wading in and whether Jaebeom had realized it or not, he had brought them there. Or had they always been there and both Jinyoung and Jaebeom were both too stubbornly ignorant to even realize it?

Thankfully, he was momentarily saved from having to figure out his next plan of action, post-coital, when a vibrating hum resounded from somewhere on the floor of the hotel room.

“I think that’s my phone,” Jinyoung said, rolling over to sit up on the side of the bed and squinting around for where his device might be.

Jaebeom said nothing, an acknowledging hum his only way of responding. But he remained sprawled on his own bed, eyes closed and heavy breaths still only starting to slow. Jinyoung managed to locate his sweatpants to one corner of the room, its pocket shining with the light of his phone screen. Grabbing the clothing item and absentmindedly putting it on, he let his phone open the message he had apparently received from the paramedic who had taken Hyunjin, heaving a sigh of relief when he read the contents.

“Hyunjin will be alright. He’s dehydrated and undernourished but he should be healthy enough to be released by the time we leave Milan.”

Jinyoung didn’t know why he was telling Jaebeom this, nor why he was smiling so widely at Jaebeom as he recounted the text he had received. But he did and Jaebeom was watching him closely again from where he had propped himself up against the headboard, eyes lazily watching Jinyoung.

“That’s good to know but why did they contact you instead of the agency?” Jaebeom wanted to know.

Jinyoung scoffed. “None of the managers or staff cared enough to even give the paramedics their number to contact. So I gave mine.”

“You should still let them know how Hyunjin is doing,” Jaebeom pointed out, yawning a little and lifting the sheets off him, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed, his back to Jinyoung.

This time, Jinyoung snorted. “And have them know that he’s ready to exploit once he lands back in Seoul again?”

At this, Jaebeom turned his head in Jinyoung’s direction, the muscles in his back contracting with more tension than the movement required. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jinyoung locked onto Jaebeom’s eyes, disbelieving in the question. Sure the topic was one they had never breached, nor with anyone else Jinyoung knew at the agency with the exception of Jackson, but one had to be completely blind to miss what was so obviously happening.

“You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean, Jaebeom. You’ve been in this agency for as long as I have.”

Jaebeom fixed him with a calculating look. “And yet this is the first time I’m hearing about it.”

“It’s not like we usually talk, Jaebeom,” Jinyoung retorted, that similar bitterness in his voice making a return and instantaneously turning the mood sour and willing Jaebeom to fully face him, still standing by the corner in just his sweatpants and his phone in hand.

Later, Jinyoung would wonder why he reacted so antagonistically to what could have been a simple conversation, and why that had been the second occurrence that day alone. Then again, maybe this was a sign that both he and Jaebeom were walking through unknown territory, unsure how to act and react to one another when their interactions went beyond just sex. It wasn’t like anything Jinyoung said was a lie, but maybe it was too much of a truth, too close to home and where the core of the problem was that it was much too taboo to even begin to open the door to the subject. It was hardly any better than the cryptic and puzzling signals Jaebeom had been sending him with all his gentle attention.

As a testimony to how much these exchanges threw off their usual dynamics, Jaebeom didn’t respond to Jinyoung’s biting response with one of his own. Jinyoung expected him to do so, was prepared for one because that’s how they were, how they behaved, how Jaebeom had almost reacted earlier that day backstage. He most certainly did not expect Jaebeom to shake his head, and turn his back on Jinyoung again, the voice he spoke in afterwards so deliberately even, it was unnerving.

“Why are you still with the agency if you think they’re so shitty?”

Jaebeom’s question left Jinyoung’s comment disregarded, an honesty undenied but purposefully ignored. Maybe he was steering them to safer grounds, or maybe he was handing them a guillotine. An open-ended question that could be directed in any way possible despite the context being unequivocally clear. It was a two-player game and the end-result was in both of their hands.

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung admitted, sounding almost defeated.

The weight of his admission lodged itself into a ball in his throat, inciting a sense of suffocation from having to simply withhold his emotions and prevent himself from breaking down. He couldn’t see Jaebeom’s face, did not have the luxury of reading his expression, but the muscles of his back and his arms seemed to tighten and release constantly, telling of the restraint Jaebeom seemed to be fighting himself, but of what, Jinyoung could barely even fathom. Even so, the last thing he expected was for Jaebeom to be the one to cut the rope on that guillotine.

“Well it’s not like anybody is forcing you to stay,” he said, tone levelled but head hanging as he spoke.

As soft-spoken as the statement had been conveyed in, it felt like a bullet to the chest for Jinyoung. A piercing target dead set on the pain it intended to inflict. And inflict it did. The dull ache that occasionally throbbed inside Jinyoung’s chest with every exchange he had with Jaebeom crested into a penetrating torment of pain that centered, grew, and spread, until all Jinyoung could feel was blinding, agonizing heart ache.

It was the answer he sought after to a question he never asked, but most definitely one he had hoped never to hear. Left in limbo with where he and Jaebeom stood was frustrating, but having that ultimatum made was a razor-sharp sword into his emotions that submerged his entire heart into ice-cold frost. Jinyoung didn’t think, not until that moment, that heart ache could be such a physical experience.

But maybe this was what he needed, the push he had been waiting for to finally determine his next step, forward or otherwise. And as much as the pain felt incapacitating, maybe this was the wound he could now focus on healing. His eyes could not waver away from Jaebeom’s back, a silent will for Jaebeom to turn around and meet his gaze and speak through those eyes, beyond what their words could ever say. But he never did, and the final verdict was made.

“No, you’re right,” Jinyoung said, fighting against that lump that only seemed to grow in his throat. “Nobody is giving me a reason to stay.”

Jaebeom made no sign that he had heard Jinyoung, but, again, his naked body spoke for him, if the smallest of the shift in his back was any indication. His silence was the cue to signify that perhaps Jinyoung had overstayed his welcome. In Jaebeom’s hotel room that night, perhaps, but maybe also in Jaebeom’s bed all this time. And ultimately, in Jaebeom’s life.

“I should go,” Jinyoung said, indifferent to the fact that his voice broke and setting about to gather his clothes and put them on.

All the while, Jaebeom did not move from where he sat, still undressed, still not looking at Jinyoung, eyes trained a little ahead of him, hands still gripping the side of the bed and shoulders still hunched over his entire frame.

“Yeah, you should,” was the only thing Jaebeom said, just as Jinyoung pulled his hoodie over his head, the last of his stray clothes thrown around the room in their haste to bed each other.

Jinyoung halted in his steps, just before he took off towards the door, gaze finding Jaebeom’s back once again, no longer as expressive as they had been, simply stiffly flexed in tension. There was a moment where Jinyoung considered throwing their entire conversation out the window, unheeding of the message Jaebeom had clearly sent, and doing all he could to convince Jaebeom to confront this thing they had between them, as uncomfortable and emotionally-exhausting as it undoubtedly would be. But that moment and that thought was as fleeting as Jaebeom’s body was inexpressive.

So he left, without another word, without another glance, without another thought. Because if he did speak, if he did look, and if he did allow himself to think even more, perhaps Jinyoung could have never taken his leave, he would have not taken that step forward. And as much as it pained him, hurt his heart like the ache could kill him, Jaebeom had made clear that there was no place for him there. He would be foolish to stay.

And so he left.

***

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us, Jinyoung.”

“My absolute pleasure,” Jinyoung replied with a generous smile, legs crossed, hands clasped on his lap, body language eager and at ease despite this being one of his first major recorded interviews.

“Can I just say your pictures do you absolutely no justice?” the interviewer said. “You are absolutely stunning in person.”

The laugh Jinyoung gave was polite but sincere. “You’re only saying that to butter me up and get my guard down when I answer your questions.”

The interviewer laughed along. “You got me there,” he said. “But seriously, before we get to the questions, I just wanted to congratulate you on the success you have had with your modelling agency. You started it, what, a year ago?”

“A year and a half, actually,” Jinyoung corrected.

“Yes. A year and a half. Such a short time between when JAM was established to where it is now, one of the top modelling agencies not only in the country but in the  _ world _ . I know you’ve been asked this many,  _ many _ times before, but I really have to ask: how did you do it?”

Jinyoung’s smile could not have been broader nor prouder. “Well, it wasn’t a solitary effort. As you probably know, I set up the agency with a good friend of mine, Mark Tuan, who then already owned his own clothing line that was taking off quite well. We both had the same vision for what we wanted the future of fashion to be and we thought the best way to make that a reality was to do it ourselves. That’s how JAM came to be. And as you know, JAM is an acronym for ‘Jinyoung and Mark’. Clearly, we aren’t exactly the most creative people in coming up with names.”

The stab at his own expense predictably brought another laughter out of the interviewer.

“Lack of a creative name aside, your agency is being hailed by the public for being inclusive and breaking barriers, how do you feel about that?”

Jinyoung nodded along. “Well that was the whole point of Mark and my vision. We saw that the fashion industry as we knew it was so exclusive and strictly discriminatory against those that didn’t fit the right perception of beauty people associated with models. You know, the right height, weight, the proper facial features, proportions—everything we’ve been taught to believe was considered beautiful. The consequences were that the industry cut off so many people with talent and, at the same time, projected a message of uniformity that was just unrealistic in the real world. So Mark and I wanted to change that. And that’s why we hire our models for their talent, for their willingness to learn, for their passion for the industry.  _ Not _ just for their looks.”

“Is that why you left your previous agency? Because you felt they no longer fit your vision of what fashion should be?”

“Yes and no,” Jinyoung said with an exhale. “I don’t think my previous agency was solely to blame for how the industry is, but it definitely was one that liked to put that standard up on a pedestal. This dominoed into the way they ran their agency and the way they treated their talent, which I have openly spoken up against multiple times since my resignation there, so I won’t repeat here. I still have my respect for that agency and I do understand how they have become so established in the industry, but when I realized I wanted to make a difference, I felt the right thing for me to do was to leave.”

“Speaking of your previous agency, we all know some of your colleagues are now in your new agency: Hwang Hyunjin, who was then just a new model but is now making headlines for not only being an amazing model but also a popular television icon, and Wang Jackson, who is almost quite literally  _ everywhere _ I turn. That man is in pretty much  _ every _ ad I see on TV, magazines, billboards—everywhere, basically. Did you take them along with you when you left or did they decide to leave your old agency afterwards?”

“Are you asking me if I hijacked Hyunjin and Jackson from my old agency?” Jinyoung’s question was sharp but the grin still on his face hopefully softened the accusation.

“No! That is  _ definitely _ not want I meant. I just wondered why those two people in particular decided to join your agency when your own partner didn’t.”

Jinyoung frowned. “My partner?”

“Jaebeom,” the interviewer explained. “You know, from JJ Project.”

For the first time since the interview started, Jinyoung felt himself moving back into his seat, his previously inviting stance shifting into something more reserved, more closed off. The smile on his face flickered for the span of a single second. He caught his assistant giving him an alarmed look, ready to jump into the interview at any sign of Jinyoung’s discomfort, but he gave a minute shake of his head, an assurance that he would be fine.

“Hyunjin and Jackson joined my agency because they felt it provided them with more opportunities to expand their talent. I think they had so much potential that wasn’t being put to full use at the other agency and I’m glad to have been able to give them that opportunity at JAM.”

The reference to Jaebeom having gone undiscussed was not at all unnoticed by the interviewer, but the message was quite clear that Jinyoung would not entertain any further probing of that subject. He could only hope the interviewer would acquiesce.

“I hate to go into gossip, but I have to ask because a lot of our viewers sent in this question: speculations have been going around that you and Mark Tuan are more than just co-owners of JAM.”

“Meaning?” Jinyoung challenged.

“That you and Mark Tuan are romantically involved.”

Jinyoung recalled the text he had received a mere five minutes before this interview started, one filled with an unnecessary flooding of emojis and caps locks, but essentially said:

_ I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS. MARK WANTS TO LEAVE OUR APARTMENT COLOURED  _ WHITE. WHITE _ , JINYOUNGIE. HE WANTS TO LEAVE IT  _ WHITE.  _ HOW CAN HE OWN AN ENTIRE MODELLING AGENCY AND CLOTHING LINE AND BE SO PLAIN? I CAN’T LIVE WITH THIS. THAT’S IT. I’M NOT MOVING IN WITH HIM. I’M OUT. I’M DUMPING HIM. _

Jackson talked about leaving Mark at least once on a good day and maybe three times on a bad day, so Jinyoung was hardly alarmed. But he did find the exchange ludicrous now in the face of yet another question trying to probe into the nature of his relationship with Mark, as though two friends couldn’t simply set up a modelling agency without sleeping with one another.

“No,” Jinyoung said with a laugh. “Mark and I aren’t involved in any way romantic. I hope that puts that rumour to rest once and for all.”

The interviewer nodded along. “Well we’ve never heard of you tied romantically to anyone. People  _ do  _ begin to wonder if you’re hiding a secret lover or if you had a past secret affair. Maybe someone from your old agency?”

The insinuation hitting much too close to home for comfort, Jinyoung’s assistant could immediately see the way Jinyoung’s expression shut off and interrupted the interview without a second thought.

“I think that will be all for today.”

The interviewer opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Jinyoung’s assistant was already leading Jinyoung out of his chair and leaving the area.

“Thank you and please send us the final edit before you air the interview.”

Safe from the prying questions of the interview and in the security of his own assistant, Jinyoung finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks, Youngjae.”

Youngjae gave him a pat on the back. “No problem,” he said. “He was beginning to sound more like gossip column than a writer for a fashion magazine. That’s just ridiculous.”

Jinyoung tried to laugh off the tension and nerves. “It’s alright, Youngjae. I’m sure he was just doing his job.”

“But there were  _ a million _ things he could have asked instead, especially since it’ll be JAM’s first collaboration show for the Milan fashion week coming soon. He could’ve gotten a lot more out of you with  _ that _ question.”

“You’re starting to sound more offended about that interview than I am,” Jinyoung joked.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. “That’s my  _ job _ . I’m  _ supposed  _ to make sure the people you meet aren’t idiots. Or did you forget that when you hired me?”

Jinyoung gave him a look as they climbed into Youngjae’s car. “You’ve been hanging around Mark too much, his saltiness is starting to rub off on you.”

Youngjae didn’t miss a beat. “You’re thinking about yourself, Jinyoung.  _ Your _ saltiness is rubbing off on me.”

Shaking his head in ridicule, Jinyoung found himself nonetheless chuckling at the openness in which his own staff threw insults his way. He saw another text coming from Jackson, yet another long-winded rant lamenting Mark’s supposedly poor interior design choices (in Jackson’s view), complete with a promise that Jackson would burn all of Mark’s belongings if he didn’t concede with Jackson’s wishes.

Typing a response back as mandatory of any designated best-friends-forever, Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile, content with how things had turned out for him and his friends. Even if a voice at the back of his mind refused to quiet down the nagging reminder of the interviewer’s unanswered question.

***

Surreal.

That was the only way he could ever describe this. No other word could ever depict the dreamlike state Jinyoung felt he was in, the way his heart swelled in pride as he took in his surroundings, the way his smile widened to express the utter happiness he felt for standing where he was that day.

Two years after resigning from his old agency and he was now co-head of his own agency. An agency set up just six months after he became unemployed, collaborating with a man he had just reunited with at that one fateful Milan show. It hadn’t been easy, he and Mark had never taken that for granted for a single second. But they had both been determined, angered at the injustice that the industry was creating, the harm it was causing those dedicated to the art of showcasing clothes.

Their hard work had paid off, to say the least. Nobody would say they were lucky, nobody would claim their fast-gained success to be a miracle, especially when they had gone up against established agencies and an industry that supported ideas and beliefs about beauty that had taken root for decades long. But they had done it. And they had opened doors that others had believed to only be walls.

The best testament to that materialized on that day. The day Jinyoung found himself standing in a peculiarly familiar place, two years later, but this time not as a model preparing to walk the runway, rather as the owner of a rookie agency whose models had been hired to walk for some of the biggest names in the industry. He couldn’t help the smile on his face, nor the way excitement thrummed through his entire body. Happy nerves. Good exhilaration.

“God, will you stop smiling? You’re freaking people out. You  _ never _ smile.”

Jinyoung’s attention turned quickly to the skinny young man currently almost drowning in garments and pushing along a rack heavy with outfits and accessories to put on the awaiting models, but stopping just in front of Jinyoung.

“Why are you making snarky comments when you should be working? Where’s Mark? Aren’t you supposed to be helping him?”

The young man rolled his eyes. “Backstage trying to convince Jackson that he cannot strip to his underwear on the runway and pose seductively at the end to say, ‘Just relax’. Honestly, Mark should have never let him take on that underwear contract. Now he wants to walk around everywhere in just his boxer-briefs.”

Jinyoung chuckled. “Let the man be, Bambam. Jackson’s been waiting for an underwear modelling contract for his entire career.”

Bambam pointed an accusatory finger at Jinyoung, face strong and voice stern. “ _ This _ . This is why Jackson is such a brat sometimes. You’re his  _ enabler _ . I’m telling Mark.”

Jinyoung tried to hit Bambam over the head with the clipboard he had in his hand but the young man simply ducked. “You’re supposed to be Mark’s protégé, not his personal tattletale.”

“I  _ am  _ his protégé,” Bambam insisted. “Have you not seen the fabulous clothes I’ve designed for today’s show?”

“And yet instead of putting our models in those clothes, here you are griping at me for being a good friend to Jackson and smiling like a normal human being,” Jinyoung said, eyebrows raised.

Bambam shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s not everyday we see you smile and you might want to tone it down a bit in case you scare some people.”

Before Jinyoung could get another word in, Bambam was already pushing his rack of clothes in the direction of the changing rooms with surprising speed for such a thin man against a pretty hefty collection of clothes. He didn’t miss the echoing cackle Bambam gave as he made his escape.

Jinyoung turned his attention back to the hustle and bustle around him, noticing Hyunjin in one corner talking to one of their newest recruits, an equally tall and lanky young man who had a distinctive mole under his eye and the longest legs Jinyoung didn’t think was humanly possible (he had thought Bambam held the record for that). The new recruit— _ Yugyeom _ , Jinyoung recalled his name was, having been at the audition himself—looked jittery, was most definitely nervous, but Hyunjin had a hand on his shoulder and seemed to be giving him words of comfort and consolation that the rookie model was taking in with attentive nods.

This was the environment he wanted to create. This was the kind of fashion industry Jinyoung could proudly be a part of. This was his dream come true.

Movement in the corner of his vision drew his focus away from taking in his surroundings and basking in the happiness of his achievements. It took a moment for Jinyoung to find what had caught his eye but when he did, he felt the excitement of being in Milan with his own agency vanish within an instant.

Dark, dark eyes sought his. Enrapturing and captivating as they had always been, always so easily stealing and monopolizing Jinyoung’s full and undivided attention. Eyes he had not seen in years.  _ Two _ years, almost exactly to the day. Eyes he wished he had seen before he took that step out of the door.

Even before Jinyoung realized it, his feet were already taking him to where those eyes resided, to the owner whose broad frame was slightly obscured by the parting curtains of the equipment room. He felt the breath leave him when their distance grew smaller and they were but an outstretched arm away from touching each other.

So much to say, so many words left unsaid, so many questions unanswered, so many feelings discarded without abandon. Where would they even start?

“Hey Jinyoung.”

Two years and nothing had changed. Two years and Jinyoung could still feel the way the air between them sparked with the fire of attraction, of mutual want, of withheld desire. Two years and every single feeling Jinyoung thought he had overcome, that he had left behind when he stepped out of that hotel room, everything came rushing back like a tidal wave simply biding its time until it could cause maximum impact. Two years and Jinyoung still felt like his heart had just been shattered to unrecognizable pieces.

“Hey Jaebeom,” Jinyoung said breathily.

“I, uh, I know I shouldn’t have just shown up like this,” Jaebeom said, bashful and unsure, so unlike the confident man Jinyoung had known, “but I wanted to drop by because I know this is your first big show.”

Jinyoung blinked. “Oh.” There was a lot of hidden messages in that line alone. Had Jaebeom been following his career even after he left the agency?

“Yeah,” Jaebeom said. “Your agency is amazing and I wanted to congratulate you on everything you’ve achieved. You’re amazing and you deserve it. All of it.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened at the praise. It was hardly the first one he received and Jinyoung was modest enough to take these compliments in stride, but the fact that Jaebeom had come there to see him, to say these words, after years of no communication, it was something Jinyoung didn’t know how to react to.

“Um, thank you,” Jinyoung said, hands clutching the clipboard in his hand tightly, simply to ground himself to something.

A bag was thrust hurriedly at him, something Jaebeom had apparently been holding onto without Jinyoung noticing.

“What’s this?” he asked, rummaging through the crepe paper.

“Just a little token of congratulations,” Jaebeom said.

The bottle nestled inside the bag and colourful paper was one Jinyoung was well acquainted with. A signature Italian red that Jinyoung’s preference had taken a committed liking to. The astonished look he gave Jaebeom was not one he could have held back.

_ He remembered? _

Jaebeom watched him, without judgment, without expectation, simply seeing Jinyoung through his own eyes as though the years between them had been at fault for robbing him of this privilege. It was reminiscent of a past Jinyoung had vacated, but clearly one he had not reconciled. Even if the feeling was a little more peaceful this time around.

“Are you, uh, walking in one of the shows?”

Jaebeom chuckled softly at the question, causing Jinyoung to frown. It was an appropriate question, was it not?

“No, I’m not walking in any of the shows,” Jaebeom said.

Jinyoung blinked, surprised but unsure how he should be taking that news. “Oh.”

“I quit, actually,” Jaebeom announced. “Months ago.”

Jinyoung’s shock was a little more comical at this revelation: eyes becoming comically wide, jaw dropping, and clipboard falling to the ground in a clatter. It was a good thing he had put the bag of wine down on a nearby table earlier.

“You  _ quit _ ?”

Jaebeom squatted down to pick up Jinyoung’s clipboard, smiling. “Yeah, several months ago.”

“But I never heard anything,” Jinyoung insisted, taking the proffered clipboard back. “Surely the media would have gone in a frenzy announcing you quitting!”

“Like when you did?”

Jinyoung’s mouth could only gape open and close soundlessly. There was no denying that fact, and jinyoung himself would never try to.

“Like when I did, yeah,” he agreed.

Jaebeom’s smile didn’t leave his face but there was a melancholy to it at the mention of Jinyoung’s past departure. “Well this time, they’ve kept things a lot more discreet. They’re not releasing anything to the public until all my ties to the company have been severed. I think they learned a lot about bad press from your scandal.”

“Scandal, huh?” Jinyoung repeated. “Glad I left some sort of legacy there at least.”

Jaebeom laughed, feet shuffling nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“So what do you do now?” Jinyoung wanted to know.

“Nothing, actually,” Jaebeom shrugged in nonchalance.

“You’re not secretly here to audition for my agency, are you?” the laugh Jinyoung emitted this time was nervous, worried for the answer but also anticipating it, even if he was still unsure how he felt about Jaebeom possibly coming on board with him.

Thankfully (or maybe regretfully?), Jaebeom shook his head. “No. I’ve, uh, I’ve had enough of modelling to last me a lifetime. I’m getting too old for it anyway.”

Jinyoung snorted. “What are you talking about? You still look  _ great _ .”

Both their expression changed at that. Jaebeom’s anxious fidgeting turned into one of rapt attention and Jinyoung’s uncertainty suddenly transformed into sharp focus. Their eyes locked onto one another and it was like they were back to those past years of limited verbal communication with merely gazes serving to exchange their thoughts, their feelings. Things that were left unsaid, that they were both too scared to speak out in the open for fear of the responsibilities and consequences they would incur, lay just beneath the surface of those gazes.

“Thanks,” Jaebeom said softly, not breaking eye contact. “You still look amazing yourself.” The inhale he took as he said that did not go amiss.

There were so many things that had changed between them, the years having let them grow, but still so many things remained as they had when they parted. Jinyoung took in the shorter hair, Jaebeom’s middle parting exposing part of his forehead, the more relaxed way he dressed down but still looking so effortlessly breathtaking. But Jinyoung also still saw the reservation in the way he held himself, the shadows obscuring his eyes, the words bitten back in a swallow to never be spoken out loud. Maybe nothing had changed after all.

“So no plans from here on?” Jinyoung asked, diverting away from the moment and hopefully returning to more neutral ground.

Jaebeom gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it. I guess I want to do something that makes me happy. Maybe something like photography. I’ve always been more interested in being behind the lens than in front of it, so I might give that a shot.”

“That sounds promising,” Jinyoung said encouragingly. “I’ll be sure to hire you before you start becoming a bigshot photographer.”

They both shared polite laughter, one that died down quite quickly. It was difficult to steer away from the moment they had, as though the years apart had brought about a determination to not leave these loose ends untied any longer. But it became a question of who would take the first step forward, who would pull up the courage they had never been able to conjure for years.

Years ago, the answer would have never been Jaebeom. Years ago was not that day.

“I meant what I said that night,” Jaebeom said, eyes finding Jinyoung’s, the look he fixed with him unreadable.

“Which night?” Jinyoung asked, afraid to speak louder than just above a whisper, even if the commotion around them was loud and distracting.

“That night at your apartment,” Jaebeom clarified. “When I took you home after dinner with Hyunjin.”

It was difficult to say what Jinyoung could and couldn’t remember about that night. He had been mostly inebriated, the alcohol in his blood distorting memory from imaginary. It also was not exactly a night he wanted to remember, his and Jaebeom’s general coping mechanism of ignorance and pretending nothing ever happened so deeply ingrained in Jinyoung’s subconscious that perceptions became warped and it was a tough task trying to discern the truth.

He remembered the confession, but he could never remember whether it had been real. Nor who had made it. It was one of those things that Jinyoung had decided to leave behind when he left the agency, when he never looked back at Jaebeom in that hotel room. He didn’t think he would revisit the answer to that mystery, much less find out from Jaebeom himself.

“You….” Jinyoung’s facial expression was slack, the breath running short in his lungs. He barely dared to breathe, let alone do anything more than stare in dumbfounded disbelief at Jaebeom’s revelation.

“I love you, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom said firmly, voice even, gaze strong, stance determined. “I always did.” He swallowed thickly. “I still do.”

Despite wanting to hear those words countless times, wanting that assurance of Jaebeom’s feelings beyond a shadow of a doubt, Jinyoung was at a loss as to how he should react. He could barely figure out how he felt hearing those words. Maybe, years ago, he would have jumped into Jaebeom’s arms and kissed him silly, reciprocating the confession and declaring their promises of forever to the world. Maybe, if it had been that moment just before Jinyoung left Jaebeom’s hotel room, he would have cried in relief, embraced Jaebeom in a desperate hug, sworn his heart’s allegiance to Jaebeom’s lips and his body.

But now? Now, he didn’t quite know how he felt.

And it didn’t seem like Jaebeom was expecting him to know either.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t come here just to say that and make you uncomfortable. I really did come here to congratulate you. I’m really happy for you.”

Jinyoung opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say that would convey the tangled web of emotions he was feeling, unable to unravel it all to pinpoint any thing standout. “Jaebeom, I...I don’t...I can’t….”

Jaebeom nodded solemnly, not at all looking sad about Jinyoung’s lack of enthusiastic reply. “It’s alright. I came to say what I had to say. I better go.”

Jinyoung’s hand was grasping Jaebeom’s before he could think too much of it.

“Jaebeom,” he said softly, as though the hand clutching Jaebeom’s wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving.

The eyes that watched Jinyoung were still as dark as ever, but they were no longer murky, now clear windows to the thoughts and emotions Jaebeom had now laid bare.

“Good luck,” Jinyoung said, “with your photography. I hope it makes you happy.”

The hand in his had shifted, fingers now entwining with his, a thumb subtly stroking the back of his palm. Jinyoung found he didn’t want to pull away.

“I do too,” Jaebeom admitted. “Maybe...maybe when things are better, maybe we can….”

“Maybe.” It wasn’t a promise. “Maybe.” But it was a glimmer of hope.

***

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The GOT7 Tarot Card I had been assigned was ** Ace of Pentacles, Upright: _ Opportunity, Prosperity, New Venture_ **.
> 
> I took the liberty of those aspects of those cards and turned them into a self-actualization sort of story of Jinyoung's development from being so tied down by routine and forcing himself to break free in order to make himself happy. The JJP dynamics here is one I particularly love writing because I love having that push-and-pull between the two that they themselves can barely explain. The ending is left quite open-ended because I don't think Jinyoung nor Jaebeom feel like they should rush into anything given that was the downfall of their relationship in the first place. Whether they do end up together or not, they remain happy as human beings. (Let's just say they _do_ end up together in the end) And I would have loved to write in another GOT7 member as the young model who would trigger Jinyoung's desire to change, but I had to reconsider and stick with my original plan with Hyunjin because he really fit the part really well.
> 
> I knew this story would be a monster, but I didn't think it would turn out _this long_. Shout out to my sister for helping me brainstorm and telling me when my plots didn't make sense or the flow just went off and just basically telling me to get a grip and get writing when I was nearing the deadline and only about 50% done!
> 
> Hope people manage to sit through this and are left with some thoughts that you could share in the comments? <3


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